


Title and Registration

by stepantrofimovic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AI, Canon Temporary Character Death, Don't Touch Lola, Gen, I don't know how this turned out so sad, Lola has a checklist, Lola is a person, Not A Fix-It, People should just stop hurting Coulson really, Scrubs references and Death Cab for Cutie lyrics, Taking care of Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepantrofimovic/pseuds/stepantrofimovic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Scrubs</em> quotes were never supposed to hurt so much.</p><p>Phil and Lola, taking care of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Title and Registration

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I don't know what happened. I've been in a weird mood these last few days, so I was listening to Death Cab for Cutie and thinking about how utterly Coulsonesque the first lines of [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGEyqP0744c) sound, and then, suddenly, I had a fic. And it wasn't a happy one.
> 
> This might make more sense if you listen to the song first, but I'm not even sure.

_The glove compartment is inaccurately named_  
_And everybody knows it_  
_So I’m proposing a swift orderly change._

_[Death Cab for Cutie, Title and Registration]_

The meeting is nothing but quick, efficient, and professional. Which shouldn’t be surprising, except for the fact that Strike Team Delta meetings have never been quick, efficient, or professional.

Today, however, neither Barton nor Romanov say a word they aren’t supposed to say. Which is a broad description in itself, and apparently covers any comment about the news that, contrary to popular opinion, their former handler is very much not dead.

If said former handler expected a different kind of welcome, well, Phil supposes it’s all his fault for getting his hopes up.

As soon as they’re finished, Natasha rises from her seat, her movements as fluid and efficient as ever, and finally approaches him. Phil steels himself against the blow, ready to cover any of his weak spots, because he knows she’s not above going for them.

She stops just shy of the distance within which she could easily hit him, and spares him nothing more than a quick glance.

“How long?”

He’s still one of the few people who could lie to her and succeed. He doesn’t.

“Eighteen months.” The words _since TAHITI_ burn on his tongue. He swallows them down. “Fury’s orders.” _And yes, that addition was unnecessary and frankly stupid, but_ please _let me explain._

She nods and takes a step back. Her face stays impassive.

In Phil’s peripheral vision, Barton stands up as well. He stretches his back languidly before turning towards the agent. When he does, Phil is faced with Clint’s sniping gaze. He knows that expression well. It’s the one Clint gets when he’s completely focused on a target – the one that says he only cares about hitting dead center, not about whatever is in the crosshairs.

In one word, indifferent. Clint is indifferent.

“You know what, Coulson? Dead people should be dead.”

Phil doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact that Clint just quoted fucking _Scrubs_ to him, or that it hurts more than he’d thought humanly possible.

He wants to drop to his knees and beg.

He smiles blandly instead. “Indeed, Barton. Indeed.”

He says a polite goodbye to Hill, ignoring the way her gaze flickers from him to Clint and back, and leaves the room. Walks out of the building, not one step falling out of his usual rhythm. He gets to the car and sits behind the steering wheel. A lingering pat on Lola’s dashboard, the same apparently absent-minded gesture he makes every time he gets to drive her, his way of telling her that it always happens less often than he’d want.

He pushes the injection button, the fingerprint scan picking up his biometrics. The glove compartment slides open silently. He takes his aviators out, puts them on, looks down.

In the glove compartment, which is a SHIELD-grade secure safe that would have, theatrically enough, burst into flames if it hadn’t been Phil’s hands on the steering wheel, lies a thick manila folder. It holds Lola’s registration papers, as well as the originals of all reports written by Hawkeye since he was brought into SHIELD.

Every time Clint turned a report in, Phil would keep the original and file a copy. He’d never been sure if no one had actually caught up with what he was doing, or if they’d just pretended not to notice. It had been the only careless thing Agent Coulson allowed himself to do in the entirety of his career at SHIELD.

Now, Phil picks up the folder, takes Lola’s papers out, and weighs the rest in his hands.

For a full minute, his mind is filled with the image of Clint’s folder resting on the bare concrete in a SHIELD car park.

_Dead people should be dead._

Phil Coulson has never been the kind of man to make impulsive decisions. He puts the folder back into the glove compartment, resting Lola’s papers on top of it.

He pats the dashboard again. The security cameras aren’t sensitive enough to pick up the way his fingers are trembling, nor do they pick up the pair of shiny wet tracks that roll down from under his shades, trailing down his cheeks.

He lets Lola drive him away, and pretends not to notice the exceptional care she puts into her turns, or the way she goes just a bit faster than usual as soon as they get out of the city. They encounter some light rain on the road, nothing more than the unsteady patter of tiny drops against the windshield, and on Phil’s face. Lola starts to roll her top up all the same.

“Please, leave it down.” The barely audible whir of the mechanism stops. “Thank you.”

The rain doesn’t last long, and it isn’t enough to get him really wet. His cheeks have long dried and his face is perfectly composed by the time they reach the Bus.

“Hey there, AC. Welcome back home. How was your super-duper-high-clearance meeting?”

“Unusually informative. Thank you, Skye.”

As he enters his office, his phone buzzes with an incoming email alert.

_Phil,_  
_I would like to inform you of a recent update to my Touch Allowed checklist._  
_L._

The checklist is something they’d come up with in the first weeks of their partnership, when it had become clear that Lola is anything but a tactile person. She hasn’t made any changes since she accepted his request to add Fitz’s name for emergency repairs, right after the team was formed.

Phil glances at the screen in his hand. At the bottom of the list, the new addition is made conspicuous by the lack of a last name. The total number of people (seven, including Phil), however, hasn’t changed since the last update.

Lola has added Skye to her checklist. Phil doesn’t need to go through it to know whose name has been edited out. He does it anyway.

_Update received._

He doesn’t need to add _Thank you_ to his message. He does it anyway.

Lola doesn’t like displays of affection, but Phil knows she’ll let this one pass.

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind, Lola is a sentient being with personhood, just like Jarvis. And she takes care of Phil. I got the idea from [this lovely fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/978658/chapters/1926154) before I even started watching MAoS, and I couldn't shake it off every time I saw her in the series. Yeah, I can't believe Ward shot her either.
> 
> The _Scrubs_ quote comes from [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W34iv8jkcGE). Yes, I was thinking about Clint hitting Phil in the head with a fire extinguisher so that he would stay dead. No, it was not amusing.
> 
> As you might have noticed, I've decided that this fic is as good a starting point as any for a new series I've been planning for a couple of months. Updates will be erratic, but they'll be there.
> 
> (self-promotion time: I have [a tumblr](http://stepantrofimovic.tumblr.com/). Come say hi.)


End file.
